


Ritual (4): Vermont

by mystery_sock (terebi_me)



Series: Ritual [4]
Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, Character Analysis, Closeted Character, Dirty Talk, Emotional Baggage, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, M/M, Nathan is a mess, Out of Town, Pillow Talk, Pre-Season/Series 01, Ritual, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, So Wrong It's Right, Summer Vacation, Teenage Drama, True Love, cause of and answer to all of life's problems, seriously still so wrong, sexual superheroes, sibling smorgasbord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-01-16 09:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terebi_me/pseuds/mystery_sock
Summary: Peter is an emotional wreck just after high school graduation, but Nathan is truly there for him, no matter what the circumstances. Nathan's POV.





	Ritual (4): Vermont

**Author's Note:**

> [original note]  
> More flashbacky goodness, this time with an 18-year-old Peter (and a 28-year-old lawyer Nathan) and an important turning point in their relationship. Edited slightly (2009) to make more canonical - ha ha, I know, right? But really.
> 
> [new edition note]  
> We have made it to the fireworks factory. It just ramps up from here.

_EIGHT YEARS AGO..._

Peter and Nathan had been sent ahead to the summer rental their parents had obtained, up in Vermont this year instead of down in the Hamptons. The brothers had to open and check out the place, fix whatever needed to be fixed. Nathan could stay for the weekend, but the law office needed him back on Monday; Peter could stay at the house, even alone, for as long as he wanted, all summer even, if he wanted to.

Peter hadn't decided yet. He couldn't think clearly about anything right now. Everything was up in the air. Graduation had been last Saturday (that hellish day that he wishes he could just erase); now he could do pretty much anything he wanted. All that choice paralyzed him. More than anything, he wanted to just pack a suitcase and disappear forever; skip out on college, skip out on the family, all that weird shit going on there. Dad was a mess right now, constantly locked in his office on the phone, not really eating or sleeping much, completely unwilling to talk about what was happening. Peter couldn't tell if Ma was losing it or not, because she never showed a moment's weakness, ever - she never had - but she didn't want to spend time with Peter, either. And right after the graduation ceremony, Peter's girlfriend of six months - six whole months! - had just dumped him for a total bullshit reason. And all of Peter's friends had been her friends first, so scratch them out, too.

Peter had nothing, and no one.

Except Nathan, maybe. Nathan had calmly accepted his mother's order to go out to the rental house with Peter, even though they would have to do a bunch of manual work, even though it would take Nathan away from his beloved city, his beloved new job at the D.A.'s office, his business lunches, his endless stream of impossibly hot women. Nathan could have said no; sure, it was really difficult to say no to Ma, and if Peter had to do all the crap on the house by himself, it would take him forever. But Nathan even seemed happy about it, agreeing with Ma that it would be good for he and Peter to spend some time alone together, away from New York, away from their normal lives.

Peter just didn't have a normal life anymore at all. It was all gone, swept away on a single Saturday.

On the drive up, Peter asked to stop at a lookout point, and they both got out of the car and looked at the river in the late-morning light. They were the only people there, cars rushing past on the highway behind them. Nathan looked bored and impatient. "Nice view," he said, "but we should get going, y'know?"

"In a minute," said Peter, and then abruptly began to cry, surprising even himself, his body wracked with noisy, wet sobbing. Nathan looked startled at first, then concerned, putting out his hand to touch Peter's shoulder. Peter dodged away and covered his face. "No! Don't look at me! God! Oh... hell... You must think I'm the stupidest, lamest, dumbest idiot," Peter burst out, trying to turn his sobbing into laughing, not succeeding at all, instead sounding like a wounded animal.

"No," said Nathan, turning his gaze away toward the sunlight glinting on the waves of the river. "No, I don't. I'll be honest; I wish you weren't crying. I wish you didn't have to." He sighed. "But since you do, I want you to know it's okay. I don't think you're stupid. Or lame, or anything. You're going through a lot. But there've been times in my life where I was going through a lot, too, and I know you didn't judge me."

Like a fever suddenly breaking, Peter stopped sobbing, and his eyes stopped overflowing. Now his nose was all clogged and sticky, and he could barely breathe through the swelling. "I'm just really freaked. It's not just about me. I mean... Dad is so fucked," Peter sniffled.

Nathan handed him a crisp white handkerchief that, even though it was immaculately clean, had been in Nathan's inside jacket pocket for at least a few days, and held a faint smell of his skin. Peter wiped his face, and inhaled the scent before blowing his nose. Nathan's smell, no matter how subtle, never failed to comfort Peter; he pressed the one dry corner against his cheek, as if he could absorb the goodness and stability, maturity and masculinity, through his skin.

"Dad's not here," Nathan said. "Ma's dealing with him. Don't worry about him right now." He met Peter's eyes briefly, and offered him a tentative smile which grew when Peter, however weakly, smiled back. "C'mon, we've got stuff to do." He put his hand on Peter's shoulder and guided him back to the car.

 

* * *

 

After a day's hard work, after a quick supper of cold leftovers from lunch, the brothers sat on a long leather sofa in the sun room on the side of the house, facing toward the pond, which was nothing but a black blob in the darkness. The lights were off; in fact the only light that came from anywhere came from a dim little yellow battery-powered lantern that Peter had set on the mantelpiece behind them, the red LED light on the radio tuned quietly into the local oldies station, and a couple of citronella candles left behind from the summer before. Nathan had brought a bottle of mediocre bourbon, and in one of the kitchen cabinets, Peter found some old, stale powdered cocoa, which tasted a hell of a lot better with a bunch of alcohol in it.

He was drinking too much, probably. He had outpaced Nathan a while ago. Still, Nathan was drinking, too, and he hadn't told Peter to stop it or slow down. In fact, Nathan hadn't said anything for a long time, not since they sat down in here; his eyes seemed huge, staring out at the pond, the starless, colorless night sky, almost as if looking for something out there, waiting for something to move across his field of vision. Peter felt restless, too energized, unstable. He got up abruptly and went back to the kitchen, fixing himself more cocoa, liberally splashing bourbon into his mug.

He returned and sat down noisily next to Nathan. _Notice me._ It broke Nathan's attention, but he still didn't meet Peter's eyes, only glanced at his feet as Peter pulled off his shoes. "You know how you can tell the difference between a planet and a plane?" Peter said, just to have something to say.

"Hmm... no," said Nathan dubiously.

"A plane winks at you. A planet won't. Not that you could see even a planet through those clouds. There's a plane, though."

"Oh. That's interesting," Nathan replied, the tone of his voice proving that it was anything but. But he didn't sound annoyed; just very distracted, staring outside. Peter scooted closer to him, then closer still, until their legs were touching. Nathan didn't move, even though he could have, but he frowned a little, his gaze turning down toward the floor.

Peter leaned across Nathan and took the mug from Nathan's hand, setting it down on the floor out of the way. Peter took a big swallow from his own mug, then set his down, too, and leaned across Nathan again. Peter slipped his hand into Nathan's, their collarbones touching.

"Hey, what're you doin'," said Nathan, his voice distracted, but obviously faking that. His whole body was tense, tenser still for trying not to show it, trying not to move. Peter got up, keeping his hold on Nathan's hand, and straddled Nathan's hips, his bent knees pressing against the couch on either side. Nathan shook his head slightly, his expression curiously sad.

"What's the matter?" Peter murmured.

"Nothing."

Peter bent his head down, and kissed Nathan softly on the lips. Peter drew back almost immediately, though, and felt pleased at Nathan's look of mild frustration. "Hey, lay back," Peter said lightly. He rose off Nathan as Nathan relaxed his head against an arm of the couch and put his feet up. Peter quickly stripped out of his own baggy jeans, leaving his T-shirt and his shorts on, and then returned to his previous straddling position over his brother's prone body. Nathan wasn't playing along, and he wasn't saying no, either. He just wasn't reacting at all.

Maybe he was just drunk, but Peter felt like the floor dropped out from under him; panicky and cold, lost, drowning, out there in the pond, in the ocean, in space. He bent forward over Nathan, pressing his ear to Nathan's chest to listen to his brother's heartbeat, clenching Nathan's hand tight. "Don't let me disappear," he whispered.

"What are you talking about?" Only Nathan's words were hard; his voice caressed, his loose hand stroked Peter's head and his clasped one squeezed back tight. "You're not gonna disappear. I can still see you."

Reassurance enough for Peter's mood to swing back toward euphoria. Peter sat up, rose slightly off Nathan, undid Nathan's pants and pulled them down. Nathan was so startled that he actually jumped a little, not enough to disrupt or stop Peter, but enough for Peter to put a hand to Nathan's chest and press him back down. "Hey," Nathan protested mildly. "What are you doing?"

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing? Stop being dense, Nathan. It doesn't actually turn me on at all; I don't know what your women are like, but it doesn't work for me." Peter placed his hand against Nathan's genitals, curving his fingers inward till he had everything in his grasp; this was an even better indicator of Nathan's pulse than listening to his racing heart. Nathan was half-hard already, and grew and stiffened in Peter's hand until he couldn't help squirming, trying to free himself. Maybe.

When Nathan spoke, his voice quivered. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm thinking."

"Look at me," Peter demanded. "Don't be afraid of this. Don't deny it. Or you won't sleep." When Nathan kept his eyes closed - his mouth open, panting out careful, tentative breaths - Peter went on, "Or are you too busy imagining that I'm somebody else?"

"No," Nathan gasped. "No, it's - it's not that. It's just... I didn't think this was going to happen."

"What'd you think was going to happen? This has to happen. I've had to wait such a long time. I want to know. I need you," Peter said, "I need this right now, and we're alone, and we haven't been alone for a while. Not this alone." He sighed and shook his head. "Don't you ever... think about me when I'm not there, and sometimes wish I was there?"

"I don't have to do without sex as often as you," Nathan tried to joke. It backfired; Peter slapped Nathan's cock, just hard enough to sting just a little, just enough. "Oh! Dammit! Where'd you learn that?"

"Practice. On myself. I've been jerking off for six years now; I've had to learn some techniques, just to keep myself interested." Peter rested his hand against Nathan's hip. Nathan opened his eyes then. His expression immediately read as vulnerable, a little confused and lost, a little scared, and Peter suddenly understood why Nathan had been keeping them closed. Nathan always had to wear sunglasses when he played poker, because his round, wide, liquid eyes always gave away his whole game; they really were portals into his soul.

Peter cleared his mind as completely as he could, accessing every ounce of his courage. He had to have this out right now, or it would never be done. Nathan obviously wasn't going to do it. "Do you want me?" Peter asked plainly. "Because... if you don't... what are we even doing here?"

Nathan took a deep breath before he spoke. "I want you," he admitted.

Peter sighed and smiled. "You can have me anytime," Peter said, and didn't mind that his voice broke in the middle of it because he was almost crying again. "Whenever you want. Whenever. Ever. I love you. I'm yours. And I want you too. So don't ever be scared to... whatever. I love it. All of it." He rubbed his body against Nathan's, pulled off his T-shirt, and did it again; pushed up Nathan's sweatshirt, and did it again.

The touch of Peter's chest against his brought a little moan out of Nathan; Peter grinned as he realized just how much Nathan had been holding back. "I just... I did some perverted shit to you," Nathan breathed. "When you were too young to know any better."

"I wasn't that young. And you didn't do anything that bad. You didn't do anything to me that I haven't done to myself." Peter grabbed Nathan's hands and forced them up over Nathan's head, smiling down at him. "You just do it better."

"There are... things I can do to you that you can't do to yourself," Nathan said.

"Will you do them? All of them?" Peter kissed the corners of Nathan's lips.

Nathan sighed. "Maybe. If we go to bed."

"I love it when you get into the spirit of things," said Peter.

 

* * *

 

Peter lay, face down, sideways, on the bed in the guest room that he'd picked out for himself. Nathan knelt on a pile of pillows at the side of the bed, kissing Peter's backside. After a brief shower in water that never did get warm, Nathan standing behind Peter with the cold water against his own back, quickly stroking Peter to orgasm with his soapy hands, and some more hot cocoa with whiskey, they had both relaxed considerably. "I'm gonna show you something you can't do to yourself," Nathan murmured, "no matter how flexible you get."

"Oh, my god," Peter breathed in disbelief, feeling Nathan's tongue on him, down there, _up there._ Nathan just licked a little bit, then a little more. Then a concentrated swipe and swirl, tracing down to Peter's balls and back up again. "Oh, my god! Do you know what that feels like?"

"Yep," said Nathan.

"Oh wow... I've got to start hiring your whores."

Nathan chuckled. He'd never had to bother with that; he had a "little black book" the size of a Michelin Guide, and the idea of paying for sex just didn't excite him. "It's expensive," he teased.

"Really?" said Peter credulously. "Is it horrible? You don't have to."

"Nah. It's not too bad, once you get used to the idea. Like sushi." Nathan gave Peter's asshole a kiss, and Peter laughed ticklishly. "It's no more disgusting than kissing. And I like kissing," Nathan murmured, licking his forefinger and running it up the crack of Peter's ass, then reapplying his tongue and lips.

"Like eating pussy." Peter sighed dreamily. "I'll eat your pussy, Nathan. I will. I want to."

"Maybe... after I've finished attending to your whims."

"Do you like to eat pussy, Nathan?"

"Yeah. I do. You weirdo." Nathan's skin felt electric, having to listen to Peter's half-drunk, half-crazy dirty talk. He licked his finger, got it good and wet. "You ever eat pussy, Peter?"

"Hell yeah, I did," bragged Peter, "a bunch of times. It was like..." His voice trailed off; Nathan had slid the wet finger into Peter's ass and twisted the digit around. "Oh god... Oh god..."

"Yeah, that's my favorite part," Nathan murmured. "Stick your finger inside and watch everything change."

"You already did that to me," Peter sighed. "Oh... remember that, in the Coopers' bathroom that one Christmas? Oh, god, that felt so good. I thought I would lose my mind." Nathan took his finger out, then dipped all of his fingers into a little bowl of olive oil and put the same finger back in, then the middle finger, then both of them together. Peter groaned and his toes curled, his voice jaggedly rambling. "And - and then you jacked off and I watched you. I'd been wanting... to watch you come for such a long time. It was like... magic. All of a sudden, I wasn't alone anymore... I just want so much... Ohhh, I wish you were sucking my cock right now..."

Nathan took Peter's hipbone in his hand, without taking his fingers out, and turned Peter onto his side, and brought Peter's cock up to his mouth. Peter whined wordlessly, eagerly spreading his twitching legs. Nathan didn't give more than a few sloppy licks, though; his attention was already too much divided between fingerbanging Peter and jerking on his own dick, spilling olive oil onto the pillows, not caring, he'd buy new pillows... too intense to stop or slow down...

Peter whispered urgently, "I want you _more_... I want more. Please."

Nathan rose up against the bed, pulling his fingers out of Peter's asshole and then, coming at him sideways, quickly forcing the head of his cock into the impossibly tight pucker, and deep inside. Peter gave a sharp cry of pain, then clamped his mouth shut over the further, more agonized groans. Nathan relaxed back just a bit, then arched back in deeper. Again, and deeper still, fucking Peter as slowly and gently as he could. "I'm sorry," Nathan whispered through gritted teeth, without hesitating or stopping. "Oh, god, Peter, I'm so sorry I'm hurting you..."

"It's... it's okay," Peter replied shakily. "It's just... your dick's so big."

Nathan couldn't help laughing; knowing how precarious their connection was, he held onto Peter's hip to keep him steady. "Sorry about that," he said, "I'm Italian." Even the gentle vibration caused by Nathan laughing brought whimpers of pain to Peter's lips. He resumed his slow-motion screw, staying gentle for his own sake as well as Peter's; Peter was genuinely so tight inside that it was almost painful for Nathan, too. This was definitely Peter's first time with anything bigger than a finger.

It had to be that way. Nathan was Peter's first everything. No one else could do it right. No one else could know Peter as well as Nathan did.

"Right there! Oh fuck!" Peter gave an abrupt shout, his hand clamping down on his cock as though it were drawn there by a magnet. "Oh there! Oh God! Hit it again! Inside. Yes - that - right there, right there, right there..." Peter's whole body went stiff, twitching all over like he'd been hit by lightning, and semen gushed out of him onto his and Nathan's hands. Nathan shuddered and began to thrust faster and harder into Peter, wrenching pitiful cries from Peter's throat, but none of them begged Nathan to stop.

Nathan pushed Peter back into his face-down position, entered him again, and fucked fast and shallow, his fingertips clenching into Peter's ass cheeks hard enough to leave bruises. It didn't matter; it would be at least a week before anyone else was here, and he wanted to keep Peter's hips steady, so as to not have to fuck him deeply just to keep his balance. He didn't want to hurt Peter; he wanted... "Yes! Yes! Oh god..."

He wanted to keep Peter in good shape so that he could fuck him some more later.

The truth. Right there. Pointless to deny it anymore. Branded into Nathan's brain with the orgasm, branded into the same place where all the others had been, all the embraces, all the kisses. His lover, his brother, something mysterious, religious, extraordinary. This was a part of who he was, what Peter was. What they were together. No one else would ever understand, and they didn't need to. Because Peter understood.

And Peter was loved, embraced, enfolded in his bliss, his body locked with Nathan's, and he wasn't drowning or vanishing or alone. Nathan was with him. Nathan wanted him. Nathan loved him. Nathan fucked him. Another level of understanding and trust had been attained, and could never be undone.

"Oh, yeah, that's it," Peter purred. "Whenever. _Whenever_ you want me. No matter what."

"Whenever you want _me_ ," Nathan whispered back, kissing Peter's neck, then, turning Peter over, kissing his mouth, trading breath with him. "Whatever you want."

Peter's wide eyes searched Nathan's face. "Again," he said, smiling. "Now."

**Author's Note:**

> [original end note] Peter is pretty emotionally unstable, but we knew that already. Plus, he’s 18. And a Petrelli.
> 
> [new edition end note] Little did we know. Little. Did. We. Know.


End file.
